...and I like to do drawerings.

Although the title refers to one of Mike Myers' goofy SNL comedy skits, I'm finding that I really do like to do drawerings.  I suck at actual, legitimate attempts at artwork, but drawerings? I got that.

Here's what I've been up to this week.

Me: a self-portrait.

To keep it real, I made one eye higher than the other one and gave myself a double chin.  My family and friends helpfully pointed out that I look like I'm wearing a straight jacket.  That was unintentional.  In reality, I tried to make it look like I was crossing my arms because when I draw hands, they look like this:

 My next endeavor was an amazingly true-to-life rendition of Shrinky Dink.

Despite its inherent awesomeness, Shrinky Dink complained that I added wrinkles by the mouth.  I was going for an irked expression.  So they are expression lines, Shrinky Dink.  If I meant to draw you with wrinkles, it would have looked more like this:

Now before you all think I'm a bad friend, let me share with you what Shrinky Dink did to my self-portrait when I told her that I have poison ivy on my eyelid. 

She even added the byline: Yo ho ho and a bottle of calamine.

Yes, I have poison ivy on my EYELID.  My husband Tree Guy is a forester and often brings home such "gifts" from nature.  Usually I avoid poison ivy by refusing to wash my husband's clothes, but this week (in an effort to bribe him to take that table back to the furniture store finally) I did his laundry.  And a weepy, crusty eyelid is my reward. 

There is a back story to the laundry thing.  A couple years ago mysterious things started to happen to the laundry whenever I washed my husband's clothes.  Despite checking the pockets, a pen would ruin the load.  Candy and gum wrappers would hide in pockets and jump out to scare me as soon as I pulled the clothes from the dryer.  An errant penny would kick the crap out of the dryer--but only during Tree Guy's loads.  A bleach spot would randomly appear on a t-shirt (even though I never use bleach). The last straw was when a Sharpie exploded inside the washer.  I was so traumatized by our laundry poltergeist that I vowed never to do Tree Guy's laundry again.

Desperate to stop obsessing about the water ring on the dining table, I sacrificed my principles.  And when I told Tree Guy (who loves to be profiled online) that my gimpy eye is yet another sign from on high that I shouldn't be doing his laundry, he gave me this look:

I get no respect.